


We All Have Our Vices

by AlexandraLyman



Series: Between Heaven & Hell [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angel/Demon Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 13:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12233787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandraLyman/pseuds/AlexandraLyman
Summary: The demon Killian Jones has many vices, drinking, smoking, sex. Especially sex with a certain angel named Emma Swan. It's certainly a sin, but it feels like a sacrament...or it just might be both.Part of my angel/demon Between Heaven & Hell AU verse.





	We All Have Our Vices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kliomuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kliomuse/gifts).



> Written as a birthday present for my dear friend Kliomuse - some smut with a smattering of plot thrown in.

**_Boston - 1993_  
**

 

A demon walked into a bar.

It was a dump, the lowest of dives with flickering neon, cheap beer, and a literal angel perched on a stool with a flock of admiring men around her.

Killian felt a flare of jealousy low in his gut at the sight, his vision going red for a moment as he pulled out a pack of smokes from the inside pocket of his jacket and jammed one in his mouth. He lit a match one handed, flicking it to life with his thumb and a touch of infernal fire and taking a deep drag, tasting the bitter flecks of tobacco on his tongue and filling his lungs with harmless smoke.

Well, harmless to  _him._

The neighbourhood surrounding the bar was decidedly working-class and so were the patrons - dockworkers, plumbers, firemen - in Red Sox hats and worn jeans, heavy accents and heavier looks when they glanced his way and saw immediately that he didn’t belong. His teeth were too white, his shoes too polished, his shirt was silk and his black leather jacket cost more than their beat-up cars.

“Hey, pal.”

The hand never made it to his shoulder, he ducked and turned in a roll that was too smooth, too quick to be human.

“Not your pal,  _mate_.”

Killian smiled at the man who’d tried to grab him, jamming a thumb in his belt loop and rocking back easily on his heels. He wasn't one of them...but he wasn't what they thought he was either, a rich asshole slumming it for kicks in the little hole in the wall bar, looking to pick up a Southie girl for the night and dazzle her with his cash and car and dashing good looks until he’d had his fun. Oh, he  _was_  rich, and he  _was_  an asshole, and he had a very nice car parked outside indeed, but none of that would dazzle the one he’d really come for, the only one among them who knew him for what he really was and never flinched away.

The tip of the cigarette in his mouth flared bright red and he blew a mouthful of smoke at the man, a dark cloud that was more shadow than smoke and for a split second he saw beyond Killian’s handsome face and caught the barest glimpse of what lay hidden below, unseen to anyone else around them and gone so quickly that it had him blinking in confusion, glancing down at the bottle in his hand and probably wondering if he’d had one too many. Killian winked, turning smoothly on his heel and making his way towards the bar. They let him pass in silence, Boston’s Irish Catholic heritage was still strong in places like these and some old instinct passed down among the generations warned the sheep in the flock that there was a wolf in their midst and none among them was eager to get too close and risk the snapping jaws and sharp claws.

His angel had to sense his approach, even though she hadn't turned around. The already warm room was getting even warmer with his presence, beads of condensation forming on the bottles of beer and ice melting in the mixed drinks. He was hot enough to burn (and he burned only for her) when he leaned his elbow on the bar and forced the wannabe lothario who was sitting on the stool next to her to scoot away in the other direction.

“What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“I think that line is older than you are, which is really saying something.”

Amusement rolled through him while she swung sideways on the stool and her knees almost brushed his leg. She wore a dress of plum coloured velvet with long sleeves and a scoop neck, blonde hair in cherubic curls, white skin and dark stockings - that as sexy as they were from his current vantage point - would look even better wrapped around his hips. The lone bartender scowled, meaty forearms crossed over his chest and even the hundred-dollar bill that appeared almost like magic between Killian's fingers didn't get him to come over to take his order. But when Emma smiled and waved suddenly it was a different story, he was there in a flash and he ignored Killian completely to ask, “What’ll it be, sweetheart?”

The endearment grated on him like sandpaper on his skin and his voice dropped to a low hiss, “The _lady_  will have what I’m having, whiskey, neat.”

Emma neatly plucked both the money from his hand and the cigarette from his mouth, stubbing it out in a foil ashtray. “Keep the change,” she said to the bartender, sliding the bill over and diffusing some of the tension with her generous tip.

“Smoking is bad for you.”

He almost laughed out loud at the admonishment, “Smoking is bad for everyone  _but_ me, what am I going to get lung cancer?”

The whiskey wasn't top shelf, not in a place like this, but it was liquor and that was all that mattered. He knocked back half the drink that was begrudgingly placed in front of him and pulled the cigarette pack from his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the bar.

“But if you insist.”

He had plenty of other vices, alcohol and drugs, fast cars, the gambling ring of underground casinos and sports betting he was currently running in the city…

Sex.

It was both sin and sacrament, a virtue within the bonds of marriage and a vice everywhere else, lust was deadly and it was better to marry than burn.

But some preferred to play with that fire instead.

_“Come home with me, angel.”_

_He_  was her vice, he always had been, the whisper in her ear that promised earthly delights more intoxicating than the whiskey when the lights dimmed and the hour grew late, when cheesy pickup lines became fervent prayers spoken in a dark corner where the shadows hid them and it wasn’t his flashy car or his stacks of cash that had her hand slipping under his leather jacket and into the open collar of his shirt, striking sparks that flared bright under his skin and made him shudder in quiet ecstasy better than any drug while she answered without words.

The low-slung sports car sped north through the winding streets to the much better neighbourhood where he lived and as soon as they were inside his apartment he had Emma pinned to the door, the white-winged butterfly caught with his jacket draped over her shoulders and her legs around his hips. They kissed frantically while he thrust lazily between her thighs in a dirty grind, rolling and rubbing his erection over the silky material that still covered her until she was whimpering into his mouth and he could feel the sting of her nails through his shirt.

“Fuck,” he ground out, chasing both the pleasure and the pain.

“Kind of stating the obvious there, aren’t you?”

Killian grinned, stilling his hips and kissing a path to her ear along her jaw, “Well, I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to just assume that I was getting laid tonight, but if you  _insist_.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Emma tugged on his hair, pulling his head back so that they were face to face. Something flashed behind her eyes that had him frowning, a look that had him immediately concerned.

“What’s wrong?”

He felt her fingers at the back of his neck, threading through the soft hair at his nape. His eyes fluttered shut at the gentle touch for a moment (he liked it more than he could admit) and when he opened them again whatever he had glimpsed was gone.

“Nothing, I just...I’m happy to see you, Killian.”

Her smile was worth more than anything he owned, the light in the perpetual darkness that surrounded him. Was it any wonder he coveted it so much? Another sin among the many he was guilty of and the only one he felt any guilt for. Emma couldn’t save him and he was too selfish to let her go, he’d be her damnation in the end and even though he wanted it more than anything, he still felt a twinge of regret that there was no other way.

“I’m happy to see you too blessed one, as I’m sure you can tell.”

Killian let her feel just how happy he was, pressing the bulge in his pants back to her centre and holding her firm with his hands under her dress. Her pulse fluttered under his tongue when his lips found her neck again while his erection throbbed with the need to be buried deep inside his angel, none of the men in the bar had even known what she really was and she was far too good for any of them anyway. Too good for him, certainly, but he was a demon, he never pretended to be good for her. He was sin, lust and envy and greed, and he was going to fuck away the thought of anyone else until the only touch she felt was his, the only voice she heard was his, the only one she wanted was  _him_.

He carried her easily to his bedroom and they fell back to the bed, Emma unbuttoning his shirt and kissing feather-light along the length of his sternum down to his navel before reaching for the hem of her dress and sitting up astride him to pull it over her head. The black lingerie revealed underneath had him even impossibly _harder_ , the contrast of the dark lace against her pale skin shocking in the very best of ways.

“Was this for me?” he asked in delight, thumbs stroking along the tops of her thighs.

“Well, it wasn’t for the bartender.”

He made a low noise in the back of his throat at the idea and surged upwards, arm around her waist and mouthing at her breasts through the lace while she tipped her head back and arched beautifully into him. He used his sharp teeth to free a nipple, sucking it to a hard point between his lips while he shoved her underwear to the side and thrust two fingers straight up into her slick heat, curling and twisting them until she was shaking in his arms and he felt a rush of new dampness against his palm that told him she was more than ready for the rest of him. Emma was laid out reverently on the bed and he made quick work of his own clothes and then the rest of hers.

Except the stockings, he left those on and slid his hands over them when he knelt between her legs with his hard cock bobbing against his stomach and pushed her thighs apart.

Sin and sacrament both when they joined, one flesh cleaved together and burning with forbidden lust. The angel played with fire and the demon prayed, locked in an embrace of golden light and twisted shadow that spilled from under their skin while he moved inside her. The smooth slide of skin on skin, the delicious drag of cock into cunt, the roll of her hips to meet his every stroke while her thighs cradled him and her arms held him close, it was as potent as any drug and sweeter than any joy.

“Emma,” he pleaded, breath hot and begging shamelessly against her lips, “Stay with me.”

She kissed him in response, whiskey and cigarettes long gone and only the taste of her in his mouth. Other vices were all forgotten, there was only  _this_. What he wanted, what he could never have, what he would defy heaven and hell both to have for his own.

No matter how long it took, he would find a way.

                                                                                                      .....................................................

Killian wasn’t really surprised when he woke up alone in the morning, his cock finally curled up soft and spent between his legs and his bed completely wrecked and absolutely  _reeking_  of sex. It was always two steps forward and one step back with Emma. She always left and while it might be a week...or a month...or a year, he had faith that she’d come back to him eventually.

She always did.

He found a note sitting on his nightstand in the spot where he usually left his cigarettes, a single, obviously hastily written line left unsigned.

_I borrowed your shirt._

It was missing from the heap on the floor where his pants and underwear had also fallen in their haste the night before and he felt his lips quirk up in a smile.

“Stealing is a sin, angel.”

He said it out loud to the empty room, tucking the note away for safekeeping with sense of satisfaction that had nothing to do with the carnal. It wasn’t the first time she had pilfered from his wardrobe under the guise of “borrowing.”

Vices came in many forms, after all.

It was highly unlikely that he’d actually get his shirt back but he didn’t give a shit, he knew Emma better than she knew herself. So long as she was only borrowing it, it didn’t really count.

Except they both knew that it did.

His wallet lay untouched and his car keys were still in place, Emma didn’t care about money (unless it was for charity) or flashy rides (Killian had been trying to replace that old VW Beetle of hers for years without success) but she did have one fatal weakness to exploit.

Him.


End file.
